"Snatched from the jaws..."

I was admitted, semi-conscious, to the A&E of the Royal Free Hospital, Pond Street, NW3, in January 2004. Without their care I doubt whether I would be telling this story: I was losing blood internally, my haemoglobin level was below 7, and I had a bad attack of angina. Tubes were being put into me and I thought my chances of survival were poor. I remembered that I owed a small sum to a bookmaker friend for a wager struck in a bar at Ascot racecourse, and I decided it was not my time to quit.

The staff of the Royal Free was unstinting in their care and devotion, and no matter how badly I might have behaved, they never stopped looking after me. At some stage, hallucinating under the influence of diamorphine, I tried to escape, thinking that they were trying to kill me, a notion they digested with remarkable phlegmatic equanimity.

I can never thank the medical staff of the Royal Free enough.